


Stupidly

by Saxifactumterritum



Series: Moments universe [12]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Stargate, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: Rodney is always distracted by John, and loves him anyway





	Stupidly

Rodney’s angry. Frustrated, irritated, enraged, livid, incensed; his therapist gave him a ‘dictionary of emotions’ to ‘help him’. As he storms through the installation he decides that, yes, it is helping. Being able to name these emotions is helpful. Furious, incandescent, apoplectic. He bangs the door to his office open and strides in, crashing his bag onto his desk. Major John Sheppard wakes with a start from where he’s stretched out on Rodney’s couch, flails, yelps, falls off and hits the floor with an ‘oof’, air leaving him. Once he’s crash-landed he just lies there on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. Rodney growls and nudges him with a foot and Sheppard’s eyes track to Rodney’s angry face and he smiles broadly, wrapping a hand around Rodney’s ankle in stupid, stupid,  _ dumb _ affection.

“Hey, Rodney,” Sheppard says, smile widening and widening. 

“This,” Rodney says, pointing down at the major’s hand and then at his face. He checks his ‘emotionary’, which is tucked under his arm at the ready, but apparently ‘stupid’ isn’t an emotion. He needs a thesaurus. 

“This?” Sheppard says, thumb stroking over Rodney’s ankle, still grinning like a loon.

“This!” Rodney agrees. “It’s stupid! It’s dumb! It’s, it’s, it’s stupid!”

“Yeah, sure,” Sheppard says, still lying on the floor like an idiot. 

“It’s  _ unintelligent _ ,” Rodney snarls, shaking his foot out of Sheppard’s hold and storming to his desk. 

His life was fine, before. Everything was fine. It’s not the most exciting project, there’s way too much military input and everything gets scrutinized a million times each step of the way by USAF officers who don’t know shit, but it’s fine. It’s good money, the research, when they’re given a go ahead, is actually interesting. And then there was John Sheppard, lounging and flirting. 

“Sure thing buddy,” Sheppard says, rolling up off the floor onto his feet in one fluid movement, all grace and purpose all of a sudden. “I’ve got… thirty four minutes before I’ve got to fly Colonel… what was her name again? The brass today, looking at your buddy’s stuff?”

“Kavanagh is hardly my ‘buddy’, major, and I don’t keep track of the misinformed USAF idiots who think he’s going to do anything more advanced than a bicarbonate of soda volcano,” Rodney says.

“Bickersteth! That’s right, thanks,” Sheppard says. “I’ve got a flight scheduled in thirty four minutes, so we have time for lunch.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Rodney protests. 

“Did you already eat?” Sheppard asks. Rodney shakes his head. “There you go then.”

“I’m busy,” Rodney says. Then, because it’s what’s putting him in a foul mood (along with the stupid, stupid, uninteligence of the situation he worked out just now), “it’s raining.”

“No one eats when it rains, you’re right,” Sheppard says, making for the door. “C’mon, doc. Food.”

Food actually sounds pretty good, so Rodney trails after Major Sheppard. He's not much for small-talk and Rodney’s thinking, so they walk in silence, Sheppard’s hands in his pockets, humming something off-key and nasal. How is it that even annoying as all hell, he’s all Rodney can focus on? This installation is grey cinder block and no windows, more airmen and military grunts than the other location they’re working out of, everything here is about practicality. The labs are big, there’s a hanger for the aircraft they’re testing their findings on, everything is geared toward trying things in ‘the real world’. It’s dark even when the weather’s good, it has a way of depressing you. But here’s major Sheppard swaggering through whistling, now, cheerful as anything. He waits at the entrance to the canteen, for Rodney to catch up, nudging him to go first in the queue, passing him a tray. 

Rodney doesn’t know the major that well. The quiet bits, where Sheppard’s not got much to say and Rodney’s not babbling to cover the gaps, still feel awkward. Lunch today is awkward like that. Sheppard clears his throat a few times but doesn’t think of anything to say. Rodney watches him, not minding the awkwardness for right now, he doesn’t want to fill this gap he just wants to watch, to see what Sheppard does. Sheppard pulls a face at him, finishing his sandwiches, sticks his tongue out, wriggles his eyebrows. Rodney huffs a laugh and Sheppard sits back, pleased with himself. 

Alright, so the awkward bits aren’t so bad. If the awkward bits aren’t so bad… Next Rodney needs to try the other bit of his theory out. His stupid, dumb, foolish theory that's been distracting him all day and pulling his focus off his work like he's  _ stupid _ . He needs to test this before giving up his intelligence. He nudges Sheppard's ankle under the table and Sheppard nudges back, his mouth curling up in that weird way like he’s fighting being happy. He closes his eyes when Rodney reaches over to take the brownie from his tray, brushing his fingers over the back of Sheppard’s hand, his arm. His ears go pink. 

“Hey!” Sheppard says, eyes snapping open and looking at his tray, then at the brownie Rodney’s eating, then at Rodney’s tray. Rodney ate his own cake ages ago, there’s nothing left for Sheppard to steal back. “Hey! That was mine.”

“It was. Now it’s mine,” Rodney says. “And you have a flight to catch.”

“Bugger,” Sheppard says, scraping his chair back and getting to his feet. “I don’t even have time to go beg another. Come on, walk me back at least, you asshole.”

Rodney gets up too and shoves the rest of the desert into his mouth, walking beside Sheppard as they head out again. Sheppard always walks a little too fast, a little out of step, Rodney has to concentrate to keep up. He has no idea what Sheppard's thinking about, can’t tell a thing from his face. Maybe he’s actually annoyed about the brownie thing. Probably not. Rodney rummages in his pockets and finds a partly melted candy bar. He hands it over as Sheppard opens the door to the outside - they have to go through the rain.

“What? Oh, cool,” Sheppard says, accepting the chocolate bar. “Thanks, McKay. It’s really raining, huh?”

“Yep,” Rodney says. 

“Ok. See you later, then, doc. Thanks for lunch, and.” he shakes the chocolate bar, stands awkwardly staring at Rodney’s lips (oh my god, Rodney was right, he was  _ so right  _ and this is so dumb!). 

“Yes,” Rodney says. 

“Bye, then,” Sheppard says, turning abruptly and walking into the rain. 

“Fuck it,” Rodney says. He's not done testing things, checking things. He barely knows the major. “Damn it, stupid stupid, illogical, look at your stupid- Sheppard! Major!”

Sheppard turns, already wet, and Rodney gives up on everything clever and intelligent and beautiful in his nice well-ordered world and runs out into the rain, catches Sheppard's dumb face in both hands, and kisses him. He’s wet, cold, startled, and how on earth is he surprised? He’s been flirting with Rodney for weeks, they spend time together, Sheppard seeks him out when he’s on the same site as Rodney, he stares at Rodney’s mouth and blushes when Rodney touches him. He lets Rodney eat his deserts and lets Rodney rant at him even when he has no idea what Rodney’s on about. 

“This is too stupid for words,” Rodney whispers, so close he can feel Sheppard's breath. 

“Kissing me is stupid?”

“Liking you is stupid!” Rodney corrects. “Kissing you is smart. You’re never going to kiss  _ me _ , because you’re so, god-damned-”

“Stupid. Yeah,” Sheppard says. “Rodney. It’s raining.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Rodney says. “It’s romantic.”

“It’s wet is what it is. We’re surrounded by soldiers,” Sheppard says, looking around. Then he grins, all adrenaline and bright uncaring. “No one can see clearly, visibility’s shit. Kiss me again, then, Romeo.”

Rodney starts to protest because he’s sure he’s being mocked for calling it romantic, but he’s cut off by Sheppard pressing close and kissing him instead. It really is romantic when the clouds clear for just a moment, sunlight coming crashing down around them, and he stares into Sheppard's face. Stupid might not be so bad, afterall. Sheppard's stepping back, looking around again, but Rodney refuses to be deflated. He follows, in a sort of dance, step-for-step, hands falling away from Sheppard's face. He pushes one of his cards into John’s hand, his home phone-number scribbled on the back this morning when he worked out this thing. Sheppard grins at him, salutes crisply, and turns to jog away. Rodney watches him go, and then realises he’s absolutely soaked. 

“Oh my god, this is so stupid!” he shouts to the sky. 

* * *

John tries to tell Rodney three times that he’s being reassigned. To be fair, John is really, really bad at this. His attempts go wildly awry each time. He’s trying to be nice and pretend he’s not really excited about throwing himself back into horrible danger, and the result is that the first time when he struggles to get the words out Rodney assumes he’s sick and puts him to bed with a hot toddy. The second time he assumes John really needs to be pee, and the third time Rodney knows John is drunk and tunes out most of the nonsensical ramblings. In the end Rodney overhears Kavanagh sneering about it. 

“You made me look stupid!” he tells John. 

“I tried to tell you  _ three times _ !” John shouts back. They’re at Rodney’s apartment so they’re shouting. 

“That doesn’t make me feel less stupid!” Rodney points out. “What the hell even is CSAR?”

“Combat search and rescue,” John says, lowering his voice, fighting a grin. Rodney can tell he’s trying not to grin. “Pretty cool.”

“OK, yes, that’s not the stupidest thing to do,” Rodney admits. 

“Are you actually angry?”

“You make me stupider,” Rodney grumbles. “Fine. When are you going?”

“Um, a month? Probably. Not quite sure yet, I need to do some training, they’re setting things up. Will you- is it okay?”

“Yes, fine. What do we do?” Rodney asks. He’s never had a, uh, a, an… he’s never cared about someone being deployed before. 

“Write me,” John says, grinning again and bouncing on his feet. “Emails, not snail mail, that’ll never reach me. Or, ooh, you know, one of the guys on my last deployment his mom sent cookies. Do that.”

“I write you emails and send you cookies,” Rodney says. 

“Yeah,” John says, positively beaming now. “You can send me socks, too. Good socks.”

“Alright,” Rodney says. 

“Email me as much as you like. I’ll reply often as I can, okay? Okay. And, and, when I’m on leave I’ll come here,” John says. “Not here-here. But here.”

“Alright,” Rodney says, again, brain cells dying one by one. He blinks at John. 

“As much as you like,” John says, face falling a little bit. He closes the space between them, cradling Rodney’s face. “Just send me whatever. I’ll be okay. I’ll come back.”

“Damn right,” Rodney says. 

He still feels dumb with  _ feelings  _ when John pulls away, telling him more about the assignment, the people he might be working with. 

* * *

It takes a few deployments before Rodney really starts to miss John when he’s gone. He does miss him, but it’s in a vague sort of way and he finds it not too difficult to distract himself with work. It’s always good when John comes back, but it’s not too bad, not the worst thing he’s ever experienced. But the fourth time John goes, he’s got a slight cold and he’s reluctant to leave Rodney. He writes Rodney an email from the plane, and then when he arrives back on base, and Rodney replies to both. The third email comes the next afternoon, Rodney’s setting up in the lecture hall at the local college, readying to teach a bunch of ungrateful postgrad students. It’s just a few lines, a photograph of John smiling at the camera, a note about his new XO, Evan Lorne. It’s the photo that gets to Rodney. 

He gets halfway through the class, he’s writing up a formula that he and most of the physics-world use all the time. It’s functional. He realises as he finishes that instead of writing up the usual equation, he’s put up John’s version. He sent John the math ages ago, got this flowery pretty version back, laughed about it, and here he is putting it on a whiteboard. He stops talking, staring at the intricate, perfect balance of numbers. He can’t remember what he was talking about, what he’s using the formula for, can’t think of anything except John. His mind is all fog. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says. 

“Prof? Dr McKay?” one of the grads says, sounding uncertain. 

“Look at this,” Rodney says, gesturing to the equation. “Can you believe this? How is this useful? See, this is the difference between physics and math. Math is like this; sure it’s pretty but it’s vapid. Useful to noone! Sure it's applicable, but only if you jump through a few hoops. Pointless. Physics is concrete, real. You apply the math, make it functional, input the numbers, and suddenly, suddenly the universe makes sense…”

Rodney trails off, turning back to the equation, because nothing makes sense. He wrote the wrong bloody thing. He leaves the room abruptly, scooping up his laptop, and heads to his office. He locks the door and pulls up John’s email, stares at the lines of his face, his shorn hair, the flush on his cheeks that might be sunburn but isn’t because John’s  _ shy _ . Of all the stupid things. Shy of the camera, probably of his new XO who’s taking the photo, of Rodney who’s going to be looking at it, is looking at it. Rodney stares at familiar quirky smile. John’s eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, he’s wearing desert camo, BDUs but open to reveal a black t-shirt and his tags. 

“Holy shit,” Rodney says, sitting heavily on the floor. “I love him. Fuck.”

His email programme pings and he opens the new message. Also from John, no photo this time. Just a short message. 

_ Crap, I just realised, I think I’m in love with you.  _

Rodney laughs, letting his head tip back against his shelves. 

_ Yeah  _

He sends back just the one word, but John must understand. Next thing, Rodney’s home with just a small ticking off from his department head for skipping out in the middle of class, and his phone is ringing. He picks it up and there’s crackles and a long pause. 

“Hey Rodney,” John drawls. 

“Oh,” Rodney says, sitting on the floor again. “You rang me.”

There’s a long pause again before John answers. 

“Yeah,” he says. Another pause, this one a real pause and not the long-distance. “So.”

“I walked out in the middle of a lecture because I absent mindedly put your fiddly, daft version of a formula on the board,” Rodney admits. 

“Math is supposed to be elegant, McKay,” John says. There’s no pause; he must’ve tried to interrupt. “Uh. Um. So.”

“I love you,” Rodney says. 

This time the pause goes on for ages. 

“Shit,” John says. “Don’t just say that out of the blue like that! Jesus, McKay. Give me a heart-attack why don’t you? Don’t ambush a guy like that!”

“Out of the blue? You emailed-”

“Ditto.”

“Oh.”

“I’m a bit fucked up. I don’t think… I can’t…” John’s voice strangles away to nothing. 

“Alright. That’s fine.”

“I have to go. Okay, Rodney? Okay? It’s okay?”

“Yes,” Rodney says, and it is. It really, really is. “It’s great. See you next time.”

“Email me, tell me about things. It’s boring here,” John says. “Alright, Calhoon! I’m finishing up!”

“Alright. Can I say it?”

“Jesus Christ, no you can’t- Calhoon, if you don’t piss off I’ll knock your teeth out! Yes, fine.”

“I have no idea what part of that was addressed to me,” Rodney says, feeling weirdly distressed about things. He is not a fan of Calhoon, either. Whoever that might be.

“Oh. The last bit. No, I’m talking to my, um, to my cousin back home, and Calhoon’s next… no you’re wife isn’t more important than my cousin!”

“I love you,” Rodney says, helplessly, listening to John get into an argument with someone over whether he should be allowed to call his cousin when people are waiting to call their wives.

“Sorry, buddy. Look, I really have to…”

“Yeah,” Rodney says. “I’ll email. Don’t forget, okay?”

“Hardly,” John says. “Okay. Bye.”

And then he’s gone. Rodney misses him after that, like he didn’t know you  _ could  _ miss someone. He goes to bed for an entire weekend and Carson has to come and drag him out. It’s about when Carson finds out about John, Rodney so drunk and miserable that he can’t not tell. 

* * *

After he gets out, John sits in on one of Rodney’s lectures. It’s not Rodney’s proudest moment. He keeps losing track of things, going off the rails, rambling about the beauty of physics and why it’s the best thing in the world. His students, who are used to him being to the point and timing his lectures down to the second, are confused. John comes down to the front as Rodney comes to a stumbling end, beaming, congratulating Rodney. He has pages and pages of notes and an amused expression. He kisses Rodney’s cheek and promises never to come back. 

“Ohh,” one of the grad students murmurs, and then there’s some giggling. 

Someone even ‘aw’s. Rodney calls them all back and gives them an extra hard assignment and roars at them all for being idiots until they all rush off again. John leans his butt on the desk and beams at Rodney. 

“Shut up,” Rodney grumbles. 

“C’mon, I’ll buy you a consolation dinner,” John says. “I thought it was pretty good, anyway. I like watching.”

“You are never, ever,  _ ever  _ coming into one of my lectures again,” Rodney growls. 

“Already promised not to,” John says, holding up his hands. He still looks like he’s trying not to laugh, though. “Seriously, Rodney. Food?”

“Fine. You better take me somewhere nice,” Rodney says, turning abruptly and getting his stuff together. 

John does take him somewhere nice, linking their arms to walk across campus, complaining lightly about his shoulder hurting, about not finding a job yet, about Ronon and Teyla going off on deployment and leaving him all alone. The whole time he still looks amused, though. It’s a fond kind of amusement, his eyes beginning to crinkle at he corners just a bit. Rodney gets distracted, by the time John’s ordering desert Rodney’s almost forgiven him. 

* * *

Rodney watches Ronon and John roar with laughter. Rodney’s leaning on the bar, waiting while Lorne orders another round. He’s come to help carry things back, there’s a whole bunch of Lorne’s buddies over there in a mess, celebrating Lorne’s birthday. Ronon’s got an arm around John’s shoulders and has him laughing so hard he’s wheezing, face going red, shoving at Ronon. 

“McKay?” Lorne says, sounding like he’s tried already to get Rodney’s attention a few times. 

“Sorry. I swear, my brain just leaks out of my ears when he’s-” Rodney stops talking, feeling himself flush, and turns to get the tray Lorne’s waiting for him to take. 

Lorne shrugs, leading the way back with his own tray. He’s enfolded at once by the party, arms reaching for drinks and to ruffle Lorne’s hair and to gather him close and hug him roughly, dragging him from embrace to embrace. He washes up against John, John’s hand under his elbow to keep him upright. John’s already turning, looking around for Rodney, letting go of Ronon the other side and giving a push so there’s space for Rodney to squeeze between them. He puts the tray carefully on the table. 

“Lorne, you are drunk,” John says, pronouncing it carefully. 

“I am!” Lorne says, beaming. “Get me more drunk, I like it!” 

The crown shouts its approval and a drink is pressed into Lorne’s hand. John’s still holding him up, non-too-steady himself. Rodney gives John his whiskey and gets his own coke before it can be snatched away, mistaken for booze. Ronon leans across to keep on with the story the arrival of the drinks interrupted. John returns to laughing so hard he can’t breathe, and Rodney sits back. He’s sober, their designated driver, and he has very little idea what these guys are talking about most of the time anyway. He texts Carson, sips his coke, and keeps half an eye on John. 

“Home,” John says, about two hours later, leaning his head against Rodney’s shoulder and sagging into him with a huge yawn. “‘m not young anymore, can’ stay awake.”

The rest of them protest, but Rodney’s had enough and is quite happy to cart John and Ronon back to their house. John’s squint-eyed and pulling funny faces seemingly without meaning to, head on one side, hair sticking up one side and slicked down the other he seems to have got beer or something in it. Rodney’s focussed on him as they head out, watching John ‘walk’. He wraps an arm around John’s waist the third time the idiot trips over his own feet and nearly falls flat on his face. John in turn links arms with Ronon, who’s weaving. They make a daft daisy-chain, Rodney trying to keep them steady across to the car. 

“Ohhhh say can you seeeee, by the dawn’s early liiiiiiiiight,” John warbles, slow and full of gravitas. He’s quiet enough that Rodney lets him sing, trying to get at his keys. 

He leans John and Ronon on the side of the car. They lean together, humming the national anthem in what they might think is harmony. Rodney puts his hands on his hips and tries to find the bloody keys. He can’t, he hasn’t got them. He searches John’s pockets, too, and John goes giggly nearly sliding to the floor, wriggling. Ronon catches him and laughs, switching to sing  _ Lovin’ Arms.  _ It gets John’s attention and he leans into Ronon and goes back to singing along. Rodney eyes Ronon, who raises one eyebrow, looking very amused. 

“You want to feel me up, too, McKay?” Ronon asks. 

“Ronon, Ronon,” John says, patting his chest. “What’s next?”

“Too long in the wind, I’ve been too long in the rain,” Ronon obligingly provides. 

“Fucking fuck,” Rodney says, having rechecked his own pockets. 

“You looking for these?” comes a voice from behind. Rodney spins and sees one of Lorne’s army friends, the big sober one who’s been reading Jane Eyre in a corner all night. He’s holding out the car keys. “Ev tried to grab you as you left. He confiscated these off Shep hours ago. He did try to get your attention.”

Rodney accepts the keys with barely a grumble. He’s too used, by now, to losing all his brain cells whenever John’s doing his John thing and distracting him. He is resigned. He will forget that John drove here and had the keys, and he’ll overlook John posturing and boasting about winning a drag race while pissed as fuck… ok so he might have thought to take John’s keys if he hadn’t been with Lorne. He loads his two singing charges into the car and resigns himself, also, to the off-key mis-rendering of what seems to be Etta James’ back catalogue.

* * *

“Say it,” John says, chest heaving, fingers digging into Rodney’s arms. 

His eyes are wild, desperate, and he’s breathing like a steam train. Rodney’s knelt, close enough for John to grab onto but not too close. His breath whines in and out, tight and fighting between clenched teeth. Rodney has no idea what he’s been dreaming, John doesn’t share all his nightmares and this one is unfamiliar. It has John hunkered down against the side of their bed on the floor, sick with fear. 

“I love you,” Rodney says, shaken, ruffled with sleep still. “It makes me stupid, I love you until I’m stupid, do you understand? I’m so stupid about it, I always was, I chased you into the rain.”

“Oh,” John breathes, staring into Rodney’s eyes. “You said that earlier.”

John’s fever’s risen and now he’s glassy eyed but his breathing’s shifting from desperate panic to a rough burr, grating against congestion. He coughs again, grip loosening on Rodney’s arm.

“I did. It’s true. I know you don’t like hearing it always, I know it’s hard, but god, John, you must know.”

“I do, I know,” John says. 

“I always think, every day, that I can’t love you more, that I can’t lose any more of myself to this, this, this… and then, every day I wake up and find that, afterall, there is more to it, more of it, and I’m actually quite happy to give… anything. All of myself,” Rodney gasps a breath, laughs. “I’d give up my intelligence to it, if that’s what… but as stupid as it makes me sometimes, sometimes it makes me… you inspire me to, to, to… such great heights.”

“Cus I’m awesome,” John says, resting his head against Rodney’s forearm, closing his eyes. Rodney huffs another laugh, pulling him into a hug, gathering him close and rubbing warmth back into his arms. 

“Ok,” Rodney says. 

“Mm,” John breathes, breath hot against Rodney’s collarbone. 

Rodney gets his feet under him and pushes to stand, ignoring John mumbling something about him being strong, dragging them back onto the bed. John curls up, wriggling closer to Rodney. 

“I love you as well,” John breathes. “I was already stupid. I love you smartly.”

“Uh huh,” Rodney says, laughing, bundling the comforter around them. John’s shivering a bit, he moans against the fever, trying to press even closer. 

“Make me smarter,” John mumbles. 

“Good. Go to sleep,” Rodney says. John shakes his head, moaning again. “Oh. That bad? Okay. I’m here.”

John’s breath catches. He’s crying, Rodney realises, just a little. Really bad, then. John barely ever cries. Rodney wants to take whatever’s hurt him away, take all the bad dreams and bad memories away. He can’t do that, so instead he whispers equations into John’s ear, distracting him with math until they’re flying, calculating wingspan and lift and air currents, conjuring up wind and sky, the world unspooling around them. 


End file.
